


Wolves From The Door

by ennaih (aquandrian)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, sorry i refused to learn his name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/ennaih
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda's thoughts during that porch sex scene in first season. You know, the one that made us all freak out. Spoilers for Episode VI, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves From The Door

He gets that certain pathetic hangdog look men get when a woman bares herself to them. A woman of character, that is. So she puts his hand on her naked breast and kisses him, feels him shudder into her mouth and into her flesh. He’s not used to this. A woman actually taking the initiative, like some whore he’s preached to and tried to save. It makes her want to laugh, this notion of Lady Hamilton – this Lady Hamilton – a whore in his mind. What would the family say?

So she lets him fuck her on the balcony parapet, in the lamplight, hidden and exposed. The sea air rushing over them. James out there on the roaring billowing ocean, James fighting for them, for his own ambition and tender dreams. And she thinks about how James will fuck her when she tells him. How his eyes will turn that wild bright green and his aristocratic nostrils flare. “Do what you must,” they had decided, “do what you need.” To keep the wolves from the door, this sheep in black clothing who would burn her at the stake if given half a chance because he looked at her breasts.

He fucks her with a jerky adolescent rhythm. There’s no music in him. James would fuck her slow and deep, controlled and deliberate, his fingers smooth and sliding over her, all melody and beauty, until the moment he decides to let go, to let her go towards her pleasure. Watching, watching her all the time, green and possessive and so deeply tender. Sometimes she thinks she’s the only one he looks at like that. But then he’ll smile at Gates in some private joke and she feels a little bruised around the heart. 

Maybe she’ll go meet him when the ship docks. Maybe she’ll tell him in his cabin quarters and he’ll grab her face in his hands and push her up against the heavy door. All that fury unleashed, not withheld this time. And it’d be glorious because she can take it, rather have him wild and raging at her than withdrawn and inward. Grab his scarred ragged face and bite his wicked mouth when he kisses her. Beard burn and the taste of him faintly alcoholic driving into her mouth.

The pastor puts his cock back into her. It’s like him, thin and awkward. He doesn’t know how to hold her so she hooks her legs around him, holds him instead, her chin above his shoulder. Feel the rush and roar of the ocean beyond the dark green trees, James out there in the darkness, the wind lashing at him, his hard callused hand braced on the ropes. Oh, the feel of his cock in her, hard and thick, oddly beautiful and brutal too. How he’d smile at her, tiny little wicked glints of teeth and eyes, in the fury of their fucking. His hair falling over his brow, deep red in the bronze.

Yes, she’ll tell him when he comes back and touch his face as she does. And take the consequences because it’s always been the two of them against the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is how I made peace with that scene.
> 
> And yes, I wrote this before the OT3 became confirmed canon.


End file.
